I haven’t gotten back all my words but I’ll start off somewhere.

Absolutely in love with purchasing secondhand books. Love the way it opens up and crinkles in my hand, the yellowish brown stained pages reminding me that what was once beautiful will eventually succumb to time and wane away; but what’s inside, the contents remain and that’s all that matters.

And I think people are the same way.

You flip through them and some hold such wondrous secrets and untold stories but not everyone appreciates it. Like secondhand books, most people appreciate it fresh and new, that it belongs to them and only them and no one to hold.

But I was always the unusual girl, and I love the history and richness of secondhand. Sometimes I graze my hands across these books and I think about their owners. How are they like now, what did they feel while holding onto that book drinking up all the words that filled every pages.

And that’s the way I feel about people; that’s how I fell for you.


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